Any Man Of Mine. Diana Palmer

      “For as long as it takes to bring you to your senses,” he replied calmly. His dark eyes searched her flushed face. “You can’t go back, honey,” he added quietly. “I won’t let you.”

      Her color deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Yes, you do.” He moved forward, one corner of his firm, chiseled mouth going up as he noticed her involuntary step backward. “Don’t panic. I’m not going to throw you on the bed. Not now, anyway. I’ve got work to do. Is there a study?”

      “Downstairs,” she managed through her fury. “But it’s full of painters.”

      “So is the rest of the house. Are they leaving, or are you adopting them?”

      “They’ll be gone tomorrow,” she replied. “Nicholas, you can’t stay here,” she added, trying to reason with him. “It’s a small town. People will go wild gossiping. They’ll think you’re my lover!”

      “They might be right,” he said, moving forward again. “Come here.”

      “Nicholas!” She backed right up to the closed door.

      He trapped her there with his big arms on either side of her head, his eyes dancing with devilish amusement, the shimmering depths secretive, mysterious. “Shy?” he murmured. “You were flirting with Harris for all you were worth. Why not try it with me?”

      “Because I don’t want to be fitted with a straitjacket, and how did you know it was James?” she asked nervously. The deliciously expensive scent of his cologne settled around her like a sensuous mist, and she tried not to be so aware of the size and strength of his body, the heat of it warming her in the faint chill of the room.

      “I recognized the sickening adoration in your eyes, little fox,” he murmured. His dark eyes pinned hers. “You may think you can pick up where you left off all those years ago, but you’re going to find that it’s not possible.”

      “It’s my life, Nicholas,” she reminded him.

      “So it is,” he agreed. “But I’m not going to let that anemic snob cut you up a second time.”

      She tried to get closer to the door, but the cold wood wouldn’t give under her shoulder blades.

      “I do appreciate the thought,” she said. “But how are you going to spare the time?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes. It was frankly predatory. “As you’re so fond of telling me, you’re a busy man.”

      His eyes glittered with amusement. “All work and no play...” he murmured, bending.

      She watched his face come closer with a nervous sense of inevitability. No wonder he’d gotten so far in business, she thought dimly as his mouth brushed lightly against her forehead. He was unstoppable, like a runaway locomotive.

      “You’ll go through that door in a minute,” he murmured lazily. “Why don’t you move toward me instead?”

      “You’re making me nervous,” she choked. Her lovely eyes had a faintly haunted look; her black hair was brushed with fiery lights in the glare of the window.

      “Is that what it is?” he murmured. He moved, holding her eyes while he eased the full weight of his flat stomach and powerful thighs down against her as he guided her slender body down on the bed. She felt the warm, heavy crush with a sense of awe. She’d never been so close to him before, felt so overwhelmed by him. The kiss they’d shared in the Rolls, as ardent as it was, couldn’t compare with the sensations this was causing. She’d never dreamed that she could drown in her awareness like this.

      His powerful arms bent, and his chest gently flattened her soft breasts. His watchful eyes never left hers, reading signs in them like a Native American after tracks.

      She began to tremble under the contact. He had to feel it, too.

      “Nick...” she whispered brokenly.

      “Fire and kindling,” he whispered deeply, shifting his powerful body sensuously against hers. “We make flames when we touch like this.”

      A wave of intolerable sensation washed the length of her trapped body. Her hands, pressed helplessly against the warm front of his white shirt, began to move slowly, caressingly, against the smooth, hard muscles.

      “Nick,” she moaned, her eyes half-closed, her body suddenly, involuntarily, answering his. She pressed closer, molding her body to fit the hard, sensuous contours of his. Her fingers curled under the top button of his shirt.

      “Unbutton it, Keena,” he murmured deeply, searching her eyes in the blazing, throbbing silence that stretched like a blanket around them. “Touch me.”

      Her eyes wandered in his while she took the pearly button out of the buttonhole and lightly touched the warm, hair-covered flesh underneath it. She felt the powerful muscles contract beneath her hands.

      “You...feel like...warm stone,” she whispered unsteadily, burying her fingers in the thick curling hair on his chest.

      “I feel like a damned blazing inferno,” he breathed, shifting his chest to enlarge the pattern of her caressing fingers. “My God, I’ve never wanted a woman’s hands on me so much!”

      She flinched at the sound of another voice merging with his, shattering like brittle glass as the spell was suddenly broken.

      “Keena, I’ve got lunch!” Mandy was calling from the hallway.

      A tiny sound burst from her tightly held lips, her eyes telling him how she felt about the intrusion.

      His breath was coming as roughly as hers. “There’ll be another time,” he said tautly.

      She managed a slow nod. He levered his body away from hers and moved to open the door.

      “What are we having?” he asked Mandy, as composed as ever, one big hand unobtrusively closing the buttons Keena’s searching fingers had loosed.

      Mandy grinned at him, her hands buried in a dishcloth. “Your favorite,” she said drily, hiding a smile when she caught a glimpse of Keena’s flushed face and wild eyes. “Beef Stroganoff, homemade rolls, a potato casserole and fresh apple pie.”

      “Remind me to pry you away from Keena,” he told her with a lazy wink.

      “Can’t split the set,” came the murmured reply.

      He chuckled. “I’m working on that.”

      Keena, a little more recovered now, moved around him and followed Mandy down the hall on rubbery legs without looking back. She couldn’t meet Nicholas’s mocking, confident gaze.

      * * *

      JAMES CALLED LATER in the day to invite Keena to supper that night, his voice faintly caressing on the other end of the line.

      “If your houseguest doesn’t mind, of course,” he added waspishly.

      Keena’s hand clenched on the receiver. “My...houseguest doesn’t tell me what to do.” She crossed her fingers involuntarily. “Nicholas is only a friend.”

      “If you say so. Does six o’clock suit you?” he added, a purr in his pleasant voice. “I thought we’d dine at the Magnolia Room.”

      She remembered the exclusive restaurant well. She’d ridden the bus past it on her way to Atlanta at the age of eighteen, when she’d left Ashton behind. She’d been crying, and through her tears she’d strained for a sight of James as the bus passed his favorite eating place.

      “I’d like that,” she murmured.

      “See you at six, then.”

      She stared at the receiver when he hung up, wondering how she was going to explain it to Nicholas. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to improve his mood.

      * * *

      NICHOLAS